What if
by Owls The Sailor
Summary: What if Alice and Frank weren't tortured into insanity? What if they raised Neville in a warring world? What if- well these questions and more get answered here eventually in the form of cute drabbles.
1. Tell me what it is you need

_Hello dear reader,_

 _I am Owls the Sailor, and I haven't been writing on her for a while. But schools out now and I have finally managed a piece, hopefully soon I will manage to get my multi-chap up and running again. But for now, I'm focusing on these little drabbles for a forum I moderate (and you'll find in my bio)._

 _Prompts:_

 _AU - the Longbottoms don't go insane and raise Neville_

 _Qudditch Pitch - Alice Longbottom_

 _Drabble Club - "Tell me what it is you need."_

 _Word count: 573_

 _Now enjoy, and if you want to see more (I'm probably going to write more anyways), don't be a stranger with those reviews._

 _Hoots,_

 _Owls_

* * *

Alice was about to cry, and not in the pretty way like they did in muggle movies or on magazine covers. She was going to cry until her face turned red and blotchy and her eyes crossed; she was going to break down in the way that no one had before; she was going to crack like a dam. It was going to be horrible.

When Frank was away at work for hours, it was hard enough. But his latest mission had sent him off to a foreign country for weeks. _Weeks._ Firstly, she had never been with Neville by herself for weeks. Secondly, she had to do everything by herself _for weeks_ – which was dangerous as it was, avoiding death eaters and the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly all asking about her special baby boy.

It was hard (really hard, tremendously hard to be alone with a one year old) but Neville was sweet most of the time. He rarely cried, and he was always so well behaved and quiet. She could do work while he was sleeping or playing and nothing bad would happen, but there were days– especially recently– where he would cry for hours and hours on end with no sign of stopping.

Alice looked up at the clock above the entrance to the kitchen. _Half-past seven._ Neville had been crying since two o'clock in the morning, and had only stopped for food and bathroom breaks: both of which were extremely short. Her head was pounding from it, but she had already taken too many potions and didn't want risk it.

"Tell me what it is you need," she cried to the snivelling one-year old. He was sitting in his highchair, a spoon enchanted to feed him trying to do so, but only managing to fling food everywhere. She was sitting next to him at the small kitchen table, the checkered cloth smattered with the food that she had so painstakingly made with no incident.

Neville blow out with his plump, red cheeks and laughed as green peas puree clung to Alice's pixie cut and spattered onto her freckled face. She slowly opened her eyes and looked up and around. She felt as if the world had just collapsed; it was a moment of clarity,and that's when the tears started. They poured like a waterfalls down her cheeks cleaning them of green baby food, and for the first time in days Neville was completely and totally silent.

"Ma…" Neville muttered smacking his hands on the table. "Mama." He said again, and then again, and again, and again, into a triumphant crescendoing chorus, above the sound of her sobs.

Alice looked up to him, smiling gently at him. She wiped a shaky hand against her cheek, the tears disappearing from her eyes. "What was that sweetie?"

"Mama," Neville said again, before blowing out his cheeks. He laughed at the funny noise he made; and she laughed because it was all worth it in the end really.

"Good job, Neville!" She stood up and squished his cheeks.

"Mama." He smacked her face with his hands and started to rub the green pea mix in deeper.

Alice laughed again, picking him up and out of his chair, resting him on her hip. "Can you say, Mummy?"

"Ma-" he began again, focusing hard on patting her face. "Ma!"

"How about Dada?" She tried again.

"Mama! Mama!"

"Daddy's going to hate this," Alice grinned.


	2. Daddy hat

**Hello people of the universe,**

 **I have written another chapter of this! I think its so easy to get these out because they aren't following up that much really they are just pictures of memories, little snippets into the minds of these people when they aren't they way the world saw them.**

 **I also wrote this for the Hogwarts House Challenges (GO RAVENCLAWS) as well.**

 **Prompts:**

 **Quidditch Pitch - Frank Longbottom**

 **Drabble Club - hat**

 **word count: 519**

 **I hope you all enjoy and I really appreciate hearing from people, so don't be a stranger with reviews.**

 **Hoots,**

 **Owls**

* * *

The door opened and shut with a soft bang that rattled the Longbottom's old house. The wood paneling in the kitchen was the main culprit to Alice's ears. "Kitchen!" She shouted to the intruder, smiling as she set the vegetables washing.

Frank stepped into the kitchen wearing a trench coat and holding a briefcase and wearing a matching beige fedora. It was an image the sent her reeling to the old days when he was in his hogwarts robes smiling at her across a table in the great hall as she would tuck back a strand of her bangs (because she had long bangs then) and look down at her book again. A time when things were at ease and normal and fun, they were still fun just at a different setting of normal that included two rings on her finger and one on his.

"Hello, my beautiful wife," he nearly sung, placing his briefcase down on the table and wrapping his arm around her waist. She turned to face him.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," he replied; his breath mingling with hers.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Neville came rushing in.

Frank muttered a curse under his breathe and kissed her grinning lips quickly before turning to face his two-year old son. He crouched down so he was eye level. "Hello there Neville, how are ya?"

Neville reached up and took Frank's beige fedora which Alice had given him for his birthday– he had always wanted one.

"That is a hat, son," Frank laughed. "You put it on your head for wearing."

Neville looked at him wide-eyed. "Hat," he tried; some of the word getting caught in his big, red cheeks, so it end up more an airy "at" sound.

"Here allow me," Frank said cordially taking the hat from Neville, who looked confused for a moment, and placing it on his head. It was falling off his curly bits of brown, but he took two little hands and put them on the rim holding it down. "Daddy hat! Mummy look! Daddy hat! Daddy hat!" He started jumping up and down, looking to his mother.

"Very nice," Alice replied. "Now, give the hat back to Daddy, and wash your hands for dinner."

"No!" Neville stopping in his revivalry. "Daddy hat! Daddy hat!" He began to run around the kitchen table.

Frank looked up at Alice, grinning. "I think he likes it."

"I think that you might not be able to get that hat back."

Frank looked a little shocked for a moment. "But when he goes to sleep we can-"

"Remember my favorite heels, I let him borrow them and dance around for a bit: never saw them again, they are in his room somewhere though."

"How?"

"I don't know, but if this kid plays quidditch, he has an illustrious career as a keeper ahead of him."

Alice turned back to her work on dinner, a smile plastered on her face as Frank began to chase their son around the kitchen table for his hat. An image of him at Hogwarts still in her head, as she set the pots to cooking.


	3. Happy tears

_**Hello the universe and beyond...**_

 _ **So this is inspired by the song 'The Nights' by Avicii. I really love this song because a its catchy, but there is a love in those words that I really thought Neville would feel for his parents.**_

 _ **Prompts:**_

 _ **Qudditch - 'The Nights' by Avicii**_

 _ **Drabble Club - Tears**_

 _ **Word count: 1,045**_

 _ **I love hearing from you wonderful readers, and people seem to really like this. Don't be a stranger with those comments, they love you and I love you for writing them.**_

 _ **Hoots,**_

 _ **Owls**_

 _ **P.S. I don't own the song 'The Nights' by Avicii, just to be safe.**_

* * *

 _"One day my father—he told me,_

 _'Son, don't let it slip away.'_

 _He took me in his arms, I heard him say,_

 _'When you get older_

 _Your wild heart will live for younger days_

 _Think of me if ever you're afraid.'"_

 _He said, 'One day you'll leave this world behind_

 _So live a life you will remember.'_

 _My father told me when I was just a child_

 _These are the nights that never die"_

 _~Avicii, 'The Nights'_

Neville was on mission, his greedy hands pushing past enchanted pots and pans, and his feet stumbling to pull on a stool to the table, which happened to be shorter than the counter so he could mix things on it. It was earlier morning, and the sunlight was beaming past the white-lacey curtains his mother used to spruce up the place.

He found what he needed the in lower cupboards, on the counter, and also in the lower shelves of the fridge: ketchup, flour, soda, milk, some onions, cheese and a pot for stirring it in. He tried to touch the stove to cook like his Mummy, but it pushed him away with some invisible force.

He really liked his Mummy and wanted to do something nice for her. His Daddy got her a fancy present, and she has started crying at dinner last night. She said they were happy tears when he asked what was wrong.

Now, Neville wanted to make her happy cry because she did lots of stuff for him. She made him food, and packed his lunch everyday before he went to daycare. She told him all the kids were just being meaniebums for staring at him all day, and that if they thought he was weird, they weren't good friends anyway. She listened to all the songs he made up and his speeches on plants. She even bought him a venus flytrap, just because.

So, he was making her cookies, just because.

He started by adding the flour like he saw his Mummy do, and then the ketchup. No, the soda– No, it was milk that came next. Unfortunately, the soda and ketchup were mixing with the flour, by the time he added the milk. It was starting to look funny –not like the cookies his Mummy made– but he started mixing it anyway. He forgot the spoon, so he stuck his hand into the mixture and began to knead it into something. It wasn't going too well, but he kept on stirring.

He leaned back after a minute or so, folding his arms and bringing one hand up to tap his chin in a contemplative manner. It was the hand had he used for stirring, so he smeared some ketchup soda liquid there.

"I know," he said aloud in a eureka moment, grabbing the flour. He pour more in, but ended up dumping half of it on the table. "Oops," he whispered, and started picking it up, some dribbling on the floor and spraying all over the table and somehow some got on the ceiling.

"That's better." He dusted his hands off and looked into the pot of mostly flour.

"Hm…" Neville began to think again ripping up some cheese slices and sprinkling them into the pot.

He picked up the soda bottle and started shaking it, like his Mummy did with the milk sometimes to make sure there were no lumps. He opened it up to pour, and it ended up spraying all over the tablecloth and the ceiling and counter. The toddler was shot backward into the cupboards, making a little thump noise. "Uh, oh," He mumbled, his eyes wide and little frown sat on his face.

There was a long silence, before he sat up soaked in sugar soda (the bottle was left lying on the floor open and dribbling out colorful liquid until the law of gravity said it could do so no more) and stepped up to the stool again.

Triumphantly ,he picked up the onion. "The last…" he trailed off not knowing the word for ingredient, and started to break up the onion with his hands. Neville soon realized he had made the biggest mistake because not only was the onion hard to break up with his hands, but the smell made his eyes water. Still, he pushed through it adding the onion to the mixture in the pot, hoping his Mummy didn't mind the smell.

He got only a tenth on the way through the onion before deciding it was enough and mixing it again. He had even less success this time because it was mostly flour, so he add more milk and ketchup, but the ketchup mostly squirted onto the table. The milked poured out okay, but he ran out.

Neville wiped a grimy hand across his forehead like his Mummy did after lots of cooking though he didn't know why. "I'm done," he said finally. "Now to cook them.

He went back to the pots and pans cupboard, clanging loudly while looking for a cookie pan. He didn't hear his father thudding down the stairs or his mother's gasp when she saw the mess.

"Neville," he father used a stern voice. "What are you doing?"

The toddler turned around, his eyes again wide. "I wanted to make Mummy cookies." He walked over to the table, reaching for the pot, and showing them the contents. "See, happy birthday Mummy." He smiled up at them, their outlines dark in the dawning light.

His mummy sighed and gave him a stern look. "Thank you, sweetie, but you remember you can't go in kitchen without Mummy or Daddy, it's dangerous."

"But cookies," he tried again, pushing the pot at them.

"Yes, thank you sweetie, but it's very early and Mummy and Daddy have to go to work." She kissed his head and took the bowl.

Neville frowned and looked at his dirty hands. He looked up again at his Daddy, before the tears started to fall down his cheeks silently. He crawled under the table and cried about his cookies, while his Mummy and Daddy cleaned up the kitchen with a few spells.

He stayed there even after he left, playing with the soda bottle, and feeling very safe hiding from the world. "Nevi, dear, coming out and give Daddy a kiss goodbye," his mother called from the entrance hall.

Neville peeked his head out from under the table, and slowly walked over to his Mummy and Daddy. He held his arms out and his Daddy picked him up and kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," Neville mumbled low in his throat.

"You're alright, little man, that's all that matters," his father said, smiling at him. Neville nodded and kissed his cheek back.


End file.
